In Syria, Motorists Press on, Yielding for War

On the highway between Damascus and Latakia, families and traders share the road with soldiers and rebel fighters.Credit
Andrea Bruce for The New York Times

NORTH OF DAMASCUS, Syria — Along the road that winds over Mount Qasioun on the way out of Damascus, concrete archways lead to gated military bases, and sentry posts perch atop the slopes and rises of the dry, scrabbly hills. From behind sand berms at army checkpoints, tanks point their heavy guns into traffic.

Driving out of Damascus, the Syrian capital, toward the city of Homs about 100 miles to the north, it is easy to see why rebels fighting President Bashar al-Assad have been unable to advance toward the capital from the north and west. The mountains and open plains here are thick with defenses built over the 40 years of Assad family rule to protect the center of power.

But as the highway continues between two mountain ridges and reaches a flatter stretch south of Homs near the Lebanese border, this crucial corridor of government control becomes more fragile, crossed by rebel supply and recruitment routes, and war feels closer.

On a recent trip from Damascus to Latakia on Syria’s Mediterranean coast, a driver paused before heading onto an overpass on the outskirts of Homs, where rebels are still active, to talk to a man changing a tire.

To drive from Damascus past Homs to Latakia is to tour the strategic spine of the country, the ultimate prize in the civil war now in its third year. Most of Syria’s population is clustered in a series of settlements in the west of the country, stretching north from Dara’a to Damascus, Homs, Tartus, Latakia, Idlib and Aleppo, cities where the government remains in full or partial control but must contend with insurgents harassing people on the roads and in rural areas between.

Road tripping in Syria reveals the sometimes surreal experience of Syrians’ trying to move themselves and their goods around a country that has become a patchwork of rebellion and control, where government and rebel fighters share the roads with families and traders trying to go about their business.

The main highway out of Damascus leads past and through eastern suburbs where rebels are entrenched, but no barriers or warning signs indicate the start of areas where rebel snipers or government artillery could strike. Yet blue reflective road signs bearing the names of once-unremarkable working-class suburbs — Harasta, Douma — now indicate war zones, and many drivers take the older route over Mount Qasioun.

On a bright, windy morning, a haze lay over most of the Damascus outskirts as they disappeared behind the mountain that overlooks the city. On the back side, military bases alternated with towns of concrete-block buildings and domed mosques, like Al-Tal, where despite government control around the town, rebels inside it are active, residents say.

Some analysts say bases here were the source of chemical weapons fire that killed hundreds in August, prompting the deal to eliminate Syria’s chemical arsenal; the government denies that. What is not in dispute is that artillery strikes from the general area target the suburbs daily, the sounds of launching shells echoing over the city.

“The Syrian Army for the sake of the safety of the people,” read a poster at a checkpoint where men in camouflage checked cars; one driver appeared to be handing over a bag of lettuce to a soldier. “Yes to reforms” was scrawled on a concrete barrier. Nearby, the twisted carcass of a burned tanker truck lay on the shoulder, unexplained and ignored by people waiting for rides.

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Credit
The New York Times

On stretches between time-consuming checkpoints, truck drivers tried to make up for delays, rattling along at breakneck speeds. Signs that said “Traffic Police for Help” included a number to call. Despite everything, Syria’s traffic police are far more effective than those in neighboring Lebanon, pulling over drivers and writing speeding and parking tickets.

Leaving the Damascus outskirts, the road continued between two ridges, the one to the west topped with vertical, bulbous stone formations. At a gap in the cliffs, buildings could be seen perched atop a rocky outcropping: the ancient Christian town of Maaloula, which rebels entered in September, prompting allegations they were intent on killing or driving out Christians.

Approaching Homs, the mountains to the west receded, signaling the end of the natural barrier between Syria and Lebanon. Here, where the northern end of Lebanon’s Bekaa Valley opens to the Syrian plain, the border has always been notional. Backed by its ally the Lebanese Shiite group Hezbollah, the Syrian Army fought a pitched battle nearby for control of the rebel-held border town of Qusayr and routes used by other Lebanese fighters, Sunnis joining the rebels. The government retook Qusayr in June.

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In the town of Nabak just south of Homs, clashes have destroyed restaurants and buildings and left cafes like the Fun Palace deserted, their Ferris wheels still. Rebel checkpoints can appear here without warning to question and sometimes kidnap travelers. But in the next town stand the gleaming, apparently untouched campuses of the University of Kalamoun and a hospital named for Mr. Assad’s brother Bassel.

Skirting Homs, the highway passed between scrubby pines tilted east by the wind; plains from here stretch to the Iraqi border. Buildings near the road were pancaked as if by airstrikes. Nothing about the white towers of Homs indicated that parts of the city are leveled or still contested, though on a return trip smoke rose from the center.

Heading west into coastal Tartus Province, green hills rose, dotted with white houses and, occasionally, Crusader castles, perched high to control the valleys much like the modern-day concrete military posts. From a distance, the gray hulk of Krak des Chevaliers, the most famous, did not reveal the damage inflicted by clashes there.

Along the coast came the first open rest stop of the trip. On a tree-lined patio, the owner, Mahran Khwanda, was presiding over coffee with a half-dozen gray-haired men. His bus company, Kadmous Transport, lost about 70 of its 200 buses to theft during the conflict, he said, and now plies routes only between Damascus and Latakia.

Mr. Khwanda said he had gotten himself removed from a list of sanctioned business people, arguing that he had no connection to the government and had good relations with American diplomats. Two of his sons live in the United States; he praised President Obama for backing off threats to strike Syria, and said that if he could end the conflict with Israel, all the Middle East’s problems could be settled.

“We are not against America, of course, but we are expecting America to be fair with us,” he said. The rebels, he said, “are not popular.”

“No one knows them; they are not united or qualified,” he added. “At the same time, Syria needs something else” other than the current government.

On the last stretch, the road passed another place now synonymous with conflict: Baniyas, where pro-government forces killed more than 200 people in May, many of them civilians.

Now in the pro-government heartland, more of the cars on the road sported decals of Mr. Assad. Cars piled up at a checkpoint to enter Latakia, where support for the military was on display and security was tight.

The palm-lined streets of Latakia were busy. The hotels north of town boasted gleaming lobbies and swimming pools. But outside, along the gently lapping sea, the beaches were empty.

Hwaida Saad contributed reporting.

A version of this article appears in print on October 14, 2013, on Page A8 of the New York edition with the headline: Motorists Press On, Yielding for War. Order Reprints|Today's Paper|Subscribe